


Iced Honey

by Spiria



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:23:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiria/pseuds/Spiria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before they embark on the quest to take back Erebor, Kíli makes Fíli ice cream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iced Honey

**Author's Note:**

> For January, who suggested one night that I write about Dwarves eating ice cream. Twenty minutes later, I gorged on chocolate ice cream.

While Fíli lamented the loss of his mead smearing the snow, an empty and frosted mug in his grip, Kíli knelt down and took a fistful of the white stuff. He was laughing; the crude snowball crumbled and fell through his gloved fingers, and he threw what was left at Fíli. 

Flakes of snow touched Fíli's face and he shook his head. What remained on his flushed face melted, but he was numb to the cold.

Fíli sighed, "What a waste."

"What is?" asked Kíli. "The mead? Oh, come on, there's more back home."

Rising, he rolled his shoulder back and threw another snowball, this one more well-packed than its predecessor. It was blocked by the raising of Fíli's arm and exploded into powdery fragments.

"That would require treking all the way back up," said Fíli, his gaze wandering.

Behind them was a trail of mead on ice, its odor faint and overpowered by the fresh air of cold mother nature. They had tumbled down the mountainside, snow all up their nose and clothes, and in the process Fíli had also lost his drink. The fall itself had been harmless, but it would take them some time to reach the top again from whence they'd come rolling down. Nevertheless, a slight smile graced Fíli's features.

Kíli chortled. "And falling again? You tripped so easily."

Quirking a brow, Fíli turned the mug over to empty its snowy contents and said, "You pushed me."

"No, Fíli." Kíli shook his head. "I tackled you."

"While I had mead in a mug."

Fíli pointed to the mug with his chin. A persistent drop of mead clung to the downturned rim for dear life, before finally splashing onto the snow below. The snow melted from the contact and caved in just barely to watchful eyes.

His grin widening, Kíli nodded.

"Yes. While so," he said, almost proud, and Fíli could hardly deny his own amusement.

"And you'll reimburse me by fetching another mug?" he asked.

All of a sudden, the corners of Kíli's lips traveled downward and he frowned. It was not a serious frown, rather akin to mock offense. His voice climbed a pitch, and he said, "I'm your brother, not your courier."

"I do miss my mead."

Eyes widening in abrupt epiphany, Kíli moved back to the end of the mead trail. He crouched beside it to scoop up a handful of stained snow, then picked at a twig caught in the bunch and tossed it. He beheld the snow with uncalled gentleness, as though he were handling gold. Not that he had ever touched the sort of gold Thorin liked to tell his sister-sons about.

"Here, how about this?" he asked, then took an experimental nibble. His face brightened, and he held up the bunch of snow on his palm. "Tastes even better!"

Fíli scrunched up his nose, though most of him found the scene funny. Then he said, "That can't be clean."

"How do you know? It's perfectly white and good." Holding his hand steady, Kíli bent his knees and sprung forward. He landed upright before Fíli, his boots sinking into clean snow. "You really should try. It's nice, this."

Giving a light nod, Fíli leveled Kíli with a skeptical glance as he reached for the snow. He took a small handful from Kíli's palm and, throwing his head back, dropped it in his mouth. It was cold and melted almost immediately on contact, clinging to the back of his throat. He raised both eyebrows in pleasant surprise when he caught the taste of mead. It was faint, but strong enough to appreciate.

"You're right. It is nice," he said, nodding more assuredly. And then he reached out and took more.

Kíli pulled back when the last of the snow was taken from his palm. Smiling, he raised his right foot, then the left foot, freeing them from the snow with a crunch to accompany each step.

"What did I tell you?" he said, voice still light. "Wait until Thorin hears this, he'll—"

"No," interrupted Fíli, his eyes back to the stain. He still had his small grin about his lips, and he clarified: "No, let's not tell Thorin."

So they didn't, and Thorin was none the wiser to the late trail of mead, save perhaps a sneaking suspicion upon seeing frost on the beard and lips of his sister-sons when they returned that evening.


End file.
